


A Little Bit Naughty, A Little Bit Nice

by Wheat From Chaff (wheatfromchaff)



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Office Sex, Oral Sex, PWP, just admit you want to fuck santa you coward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheatfromchaff/pseuds/Wheat%20From%20Chaff
Summary: “Sorry, new guy. You got the short straw,” Cam, his supervisor, had informed Tim with a shrug.The corporate holiday party always had a Santa, Cam explained. Nobody wanted to hire an actual professional Santa for the two hours he’d be needed. Renting a costume was more cost-effective, anyway. Tim stared at the receipt for Marabar’s Fabulous Costume Emporium they’d left on his keyboard.Tim dresses up as Santa. Rhys wants to sit on his lap. Filth ensues.





	A Little Bit Naughty, A Little Bit Nice

“Sorry, new guy. You got the short straw,” Cam, his supervisor, had informed Tim with a shrug.

The corporate holiday party always had a Santa, Cam explained. Nobody wanted to hire an actual professional Santa for the two hours he’d be needed. Renting a costume was more cost-effective, anyway. Tim stared at the receipt for Marabar’s Fabulous Costume Emporium they’d left on his keyboard.

“Why do we even need a Santa?” he asked.

“Tradition,” Cam replied. He’d already returned to his desk at the back of the mailroom, beside Tim’s folding chair. “The boss likes us to bring our kids. Really encourage the whole family-friendly, wholesome image. She’s a bit oldschool. You know the type,” Cam said assuredly, although Tim didn’t, really. “She thinks it makes our modest little website more than just a place where bored Millennials can find out what kind of cheese their soulmate prefers, or what Disney princess would have a STEM career.”

“I haven’t seen that one,” Tim said.

Cam waved him off. “Long and short of it is, we need one guy to play Santa to a bunch of tiny shrieking disease incubators while the rest of us sneak rum into our nog. And this year, that guy is you.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “How’s your kids doing, Cam?”

Cam grunted. “One of them brought home the goddamn rotavirus. Never send your kids to public school, Tim. It’s a cess pool.”

“That’s real poetic,” Tim said. “You’re wasting your talent down here in the mailroom. You should be upstairs with the cheese quiz writers.”

“This is why you keep getting the short straw, new guy,” Cam said, tossing a screwed up wad of paper at Tim. “That smart-ass attitude won’t get you out of the mailroom anytime soon.”

He’d meant it as a threat, but Tim was really in no hurry to escape Tin Cup Media’s (the number three online magazine/tabloid company in the country) mailroom. He might’ve minded before—when he was a younger, more ambitions man—but the grind of ‘passion jobs’ had worn him down and changed his priorities. Now, he enjoyed the simple pleasure of working someplace quiet, where the responsibilities were low and he could listen to audiobooks while he made deliveries and write during the ample downtime.

Tim didn’t even mind getting the short straw now and then. Staying sober and playing with cute kids sounded a lot more appealing than getting sick on eggnog with the rest of the low-paid facility workers and part-timers. God, he was old.

Tim picked up the costume the next day, shortly before the party was scheduled to begin. The costume had everything, including the beard and hat. It was too big for him, which he supposed was the point. He used a couch cushion for his belly and made the best of it. He got changed in the mailroom, listening to the sound of ‘Sleigh Ride’ playing from a cheap Bluetooth speaker and other people’s voices coming from the floor above. By the sound of the too-loud laughter, they’d already gotten into the rum.

They set Tim up in ‘Santa’s Grotto’, which was actually just an empty cubicle with wrapping paper and curling bows pinned up on the corkboard walls. Santa’s throne (“Pretty sure Santa’s a saint, not a king, Cam.” “Shut up and sit down.”) was an office chair with a red blanket draped over it.

The kids arrived shortly after Tim did. A line up formed. Tim put on his best Santa voice, his best Santa laugh, and tried to shake his stomach like a bowl full of jelly.

It was fine. Some of the smaller kids were too nervous to speak, leaving mom or dad to answer for them. Sometimes in a soft, high pitched voice, like they were doing an impression of their own child. Definitely creepy, but Tim smiled like it was a totally normal thing to do. He knew sleep deprivation could do funny things to people’s brains. He posed for pictures.

Some kids started to cry as soon as their parents put them on Santa’s lap. Tim did his best to ho-ho-ho his way through the shrieking. A candy cane bribe could work now and then, but some kids were just determined to scream. Tim could relate. He posed for those pictures, too, on the grounds that it would probably be pretty funny.

The bigger kids—the four and five year olds who could’ve been in the cess pool of public education Cam had warned him about—were a little easier to handle. They understood the deal, and would give Santa their names and their toy orders sometimes without needing his prompting. Tim expected a lot of requests for iPads, but most of them already had an iPad. Instead, Santa got a lot of requests for platinum loot drops in _King’s Castle Quest_ , or to find the instanced golden dragobunny in _Cutie Monster Hunt Premium!_.

“It’s a hybrid,” a little girl informed him, lisping through the gap of her teeth. “Part bunny, part dragon. They don’t show up a lot. Ciria said she found one in her backyard but when I asked her to show me she said her phone was out of batteries but I think she was just telling stories. She’s a liar. I want a golden dragobunny so I can show her because I’m not a liar.”

“Okay,” said Santa. “Merry Christmas.” He gave her a candy cane.

At one point, Tim heard a loud clatter accompanied by whooping and cheering coming from a crowd assembled around the punch bowl. The jag-offs from advertising had arrived.

They were all alike in dignity, a house of dinguses who wore blue suits and orange ties, including the women. They took long lunches at the Benihana’s down the street. They all had koosh balls at their desks, and they would all sit back and throw them in the air while they talked on their headsets.

They mostly ignored Tim when he came around with the cart. Once, one of them mistook Tim’s broad shoulders and toned arms as signs that he had an interest in sports, and talked to him for twenty entire minutes about the office fantasy football league.

Tim didn’t even know what fantasy football _was_. He’d thought it had something to do with orcs or maybe robots, but apparently it was based on actual football and require you to follow the real NFL, which defeated the whole point of putting ‘fantasy’ into the name, as far as Tim was concerned.

He should have left the room as soon as the guy started talking about his draft picks or whatever. Except fantasy football league guy’s desk was right beside the one reason Tim, despite everything, actually kind of looked forward to going to the advertising department.

Tim didn’t know the guy’s name. He called him ‘Leggy Brunette’ in his head and felt a little bad for doing it. Leggy Brunette was like the rest of them, although his ties were a little louder and he wore pinstripe suits and sports jackets. He had a prosthetic arm, which looked neat and futuristic. He was almost always on the phone when Tim would come around, but now and then he would look over and their eyes would meet. And he would smile.

Cam would always notice, afterwards. He’d accused Tim of ‘getting lucky’ in the break room.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cam,” Tim would say. “Lucky how? I didn’t find any cake, if that’s what you mean.”

“You know damn well what I mean. That dumb look on your face. You’ve got a side piece.”

Tim didn’t even have a main piece, but that wasn’t Cam’s business. He wondered about Leggy Brunette, if he was seeing anyone. He felt a little guilty for even wondering, felt like he was ruining something that should’ve been fun and harmless. It was just a crush, after all. No point in getting personal about it.

Leggy Brunette stood at the edge of advertising flock. He had a solo cup in his hand, and a pair of antlers sitting askew on his head. He wore a lumpy sweater with a sequined tree on the front—very unlike him—and a grin as one of the main dinguses poured a fifth of vodka into the neon red punch.

God. It was barely 4pm.

Still. Leggy Brunette looked distractingly good, even in a stupid sweater and felt antlers with jingle bells glued to them.

“…and I wanna epic mount in _New Monster Legend Alpha_ , but not a purple mount, I wanna a _ingido_ mount with the golden armour that gives plus five bonus on your charm stat so my catgirl can date Masamune…”

“Right, right.” Tim gave the small girl on his knee a candy cane. “Be a good girl and you’ll get the, uh, thing you just asked me for. Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas.”

The line-up finally dwindled and Cam announced that Santa had to return to the South Pole. North Pole, he corrected quickly. He scowled at the look Tim gave him.

“What if we want to sit on his lap?” came a shout from one of the advertising people.

“Yeah! Let us have a turn!”

“What about my Christmas wishes? I’ve been good this year, Santa!”

“I doubt that,” Tim muttered, flushing. Leggy Brunette hadn’t joined in with the jeering, but he _was_ laughing.

That actually hurt, a little bit. Tim hadn’t been laughed at by a crush since high school. It transported him right back to his tenth grade drama class, when he’d flubbed his line and asked for an ‘ass of ale’ instead of a cask and everyone, including the dreamy Ronaldo, had laughed at him.

As Tim slunk back to the mailroom to change, he tried to see if there was anyone significant otherish hanging around Leggy Brunette. Lots of people had brought a plus one to the party.

One of the ad guys came up while Tim was trying to check Leggy Brunette’s situation out. He was one of the bigger guys, with slick hair and golden jewellery. He put his hand around Leggy Brunette’s waist and tugged him close. Tim looked away quickly, feeling like a creep, and left.

 Tim really felt as if he’d been transported back to high school, a plot that could’ve been stolen from one of those goofy Christmas romcoms he very occasionally watched. The pretty, popular boy on the arm of the big, burly quarterback. And Tim alone in the basement, pulling off a fake beard. Story of his life.

Tim had stripped out of the coat and hat when he heard a knock on the door.

“Occupied,” he said as he bent over to pull off the black, shiny boots. He heard the knob turn and the latch click. He sighed. “Enjoying the nog, Cam? Or did you join the ad jerks with their cinnamon vodka?”

“Ad jerks?” said someone who was definitely not Cam. Tim snapped to attention and looked behind him.

It couldn’t be real. It was like a fantasy, the kind he sometimes indulged when he was bored at his station. The most attractive person in the office, his Leggy Brunette, stood in the mailroom with Tim. He had his lower lip between his teeth and his eyes were definitely fixed on Tim’s ass.

Tim straightened, feeling self-conscious and warm. “Uh. Hi. Can I help you?”

Leggy Brunette smiled. He looked flushed. His cheeks looked warm, soft, and flushed from the booze. “Are you leaving already, Santa?” he asked.

Tim stared at his mouth. “Um. I was just… There’s no kids left, so…”

Leggy Brunette frowned. _Pouted_. “So soon? Before I got a chance to sit on your lap?” The door’s lock engaged with a click.

Holy shit.

“Um.” This wasn’t real. This couldn’t have been real. Tim must’ve fallen down the stairs. Hit his head. Left to bleed out over the holidays, until the facility guys found him. It was all he could think about as Leggy Brunette approached him, walking slowly and with purpose. “So… You, um…”

He placed two fingers on Tim’s chest and pushed him backwards, onto his folding chair. Tim’s mouth snapped shut.

Leggy Brunette slid one of his long legs over Tim’s lap. He straddled him, face-to-face. Tim desperately tried not to think about how this was one of his favourite positions. Instead he tried to think of what to do with his hands. Or his face, which had almost certainly turned bright red.

His crush tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. He gave Tim an expectant look.

Right. There was a script to this kind of thing. Tim fell back on it gratefully.

“Uhh. What’s, um, what’s your name, little…” He stopped with a wince. “Not little but fully grown adult… boy?” Dear god, his voice was cracking. Had he really turned fifteen again when he wasn’t paying attention?

“It’s Rhys,” Rhys said. He wrapped his arms loosely around Tim’s neck. He felt warm, and he smelled nice. Woody and floral, like a glade of wildflowers in a forest. Was that a thing? Oh god it doesn’t matter. Get it together, Tim.

“Um.” Tim failed to get it together. He struggled to remember his lines while Rhys watched him with a little, enigmatic smile. “Have you been a good boy? Um. This year?”

The pout returned. Rhys’ lips trembled, like he was trying to smile through it. “Nnno, Santa,” he said slowly. “I’m afraid I haven’t. See…” He wriggled close and carded one hand through Tim’s hair. Tim tried very hard to think about baseball. “There’s this really, really attractive mailroom clerk at the office that I just have the most impure thoughts about. He’s got these really sweet freckles and he always blushes when I smile at him.” He leaned in close, his breath tickling Tim’s over-heated cheek. “Sometimes I smile at him just to see him blush. I think he’s cute when he’s flustered. I like to think about all the ways I can make him turn red.”

Oh good, Tim thought weakly.

“Um, Santa’s lap is not actually a confessional,” Tim’s bastard mouth said without input from his higher functions. “Impure thoughts aren’t really, uh, reasons for Santa to withhold gifts. That’s not… how it works…” The sentence trailed off to die a lonely and miserable death, just like Tim surely would.

Rhys pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. Miraculously, he did not immediately stand up and leave.

“What’s your name?” Rhys asked.

Tim wondered if he should continue with the earlier roleplay. He’d almost certainly ruined the mood. Was fucking Santa a common sex fantasy? Tim was out to sea.

“Tim,” he said after he’d debated too long.

Rhys curled his fingers around the back of Tim’s neck, cupping the curve of his skull. He rubbed the short hair with his thumb, a gesture so pleasant it made Tim’s eyelids flutter. It’d been a long time since anyone had touched him like that.

“I haven’t been a good boy, Tim,” Rhys said, bringing his mouth inches from Tim’s. “See, I stole this from the party.”

Tim felt something brush his forehead. He looked up, careful not to head-butt Rhys, and saw pointy green leaves and red berries; a plastic sprig of mistletoe.

“Oh,” he said faintly, pleased and terrified. “Yeah, stealing… Stealing would definitely put you on the naughty… list…” His voice flagged as Rhys licked his lips and leaned in.

The kiss began chaste and soft. Tim pressed his lips against Rhys’, tasting cinnamon, sweet and spicy. Then Rhys opened his mouth and licked his way into Tim’s, and the kiss became a lot less chaste and a lot more filthy.

Rhys ran his fingers through Tim’s hair, and cupped the side of his face with his other hand. The prosthetic wasn’t as cold as Tim had expected.  It was warm and smooth, solid and firm.

Rhys bit down on Tim’s lip, rolled his hips into Tim’s lap, and Tim stopped thinking about Rhys’ hand.

Rhys released Tim’s neck and started pawing at his chest, pushing his white undershirt up his stomach. He broke away to examine Tim’s now-exposed chest.

“I knew it,” he panted, sounding pleased. “I knew you worked out.”

“Yeah,” Tim said intelligently. He was focused on getting his hands under Rhys’ sweater. God, he wore his undershirt tucked into his fucking slacks. Monster. How could he do this to Tim. “Aren’t you hot?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Rhys laughed as Tim shoved his shirt out of his waistband. He raised his arms and Tim pulled the offending articles off, leaving Rhys’ chest bare.

 _Tattoos_. Oh, that blue ink he’d spotted under Rhys’ collar all those times in the ad department went down his chest, over his shoulders, curled around his arm. He traced the lines with his eyes, and then realised he could do a lot more than just look.

He placed a soft kiss over a blue crest, and glanced up at Rhys, a question in his expression. Rhys chewed on his lower lip and smiled. Tim took that as permission, opened his mouth, and licked along the blue edge of Rhys’ ink.

“I made soooo many bets with myself, Tim,” Rhys said, curling his fingers once more around the back of Tim’s head. “I bet that you were a sensitive guy. I bet you listen to podcasts all day. Smart ones about— _mm_ —about architecture and little-known f-facts. Ah!”

Rhys’ fingers spasmed in Tim’s hair as Tim took his nipple in his mouth.

This was happening. Somehow, in spite of everything, in spite of Tim himself, this was actually happening. The man he’d been crushing on for the last seven months was writhing on Tim’s lap.

“I b-bet you’re on Santa’s nice list, Tim.” Rhys sounded breathless as he ground his crotch into Tim’s lap.

“Not always,” Tim said, his breath hot against Rhys’ bitten and bruised chest. Rhys actually whimpered.

Tim remembered that he wasn’t a fumbling teenager anymore. He was a grown man who knew how to show someone a good time. A grown man who did, in fact, go to the gym. Maybe he felt like reminding himself, or maybe he just wanted to show off a little, but either way, he made a decision. He curled both arms under Rhys’ thighs, pushed away from the chair, and stood.

Rhys caught on quickly and wrapped his legs around Tim’s waist. He kissed him as Tim walked them backwards until Rhys’ back hit the wall. He held Rhys there, and without leverage, Rhys was left jerking his hips weakly into Tim’s pelvis. Tim tightened his grip, pressed Rhys against the wall, trapping him.

Rhys moaned into Tim’s mouth. He dug his ankles into the small of Tim’s back and tried to rub against him. Tim’s own dick felt hard and heavy, straining inside his underwear. As much fun as it was watching Rhys get desperate and rut against him like a dog, Tim felt like he could use a little friction himself. He repositioned them, until he could rub against the underside of Rhys’ ass.

“M-mean,” Rhys whined as Tim kissed his way down his neck. Tim hummed in agreement before biting down at the crook of Rhys’ shoulder. He moaned, loud and unembarrassed, in Tim’s ear.

It’d been a while since he’d done anything like this, but Tim could take his time. It helped that their position put a strain on his back and shoulders that was starting to become painful, even with Rhys braced against the wall. He marked up Rhys’ neck, leaving plum-dark bruises all over his pretty skin, until Rhys was almost sobbing against his shoulder, thrusting as hard as he could with the limited space Tim allowed him.

“Tim—Tim, please! Please, please—! I can’t—! I’m—!“ Rhys sounded so pretty, begged so sweetly, that Tim honestly did feel a little bad.

 “Rhys.” Tim nuzzled at his cheek. “Rhys, I’m gonna put you down, okay? Can you stand?”

Rhys’ response was a whine. He curled more tightly around Tim, his thighs trembling. Tim huffed.

“Fine. Hold on.” He braced himself before pulling them both from the wall. Rhys clung tight while Tim moved them to the edge of the desk, where he set Rhys down.

Rhys didn’t let go, his legs wrapped tight around Tim’s waist. He ran his hands down Tim’s chest, kissing along his jaw and neck.

“Rhys.” Tim’s voice trembled as Rhys nibbled on his ear. “Rhys, let go.” Rhys growled, which should not have been so charming. “Rhys, you have to let go. I can’t suck your dick if you don’t let me go first.”

Rhys bit down, hard enough to be painful. Tim groaned. He tightened his grip on Rhys’ thighs and pried them apart. Rhys whined again like the brat Tim suspected he was but he slid back. Tim kissed him once before sinking down to his knees.

He pulled Rhys’ belt loose, the leather snapping as he yanked it off. He unzipped his fly, and pushed Rhys’ pants down. He licked his lips at the sight of Rhys’ navy blue boxer briefs, his eyes drawn to the damp spot where the tip of his dick strained against the fabric. Unable to resist, Tim bent down and mouthed at the hardness through his underwear.

“Tim.” Rhys sounded pained, and extremely frustrated. “If you don’t _hurry up_ , I’m going to—to—!”

Tim laughed. “Do what, Rhys?” He pressed a kiss just above Rhys’ waistband, where a soft trail of dark hair lead up to his navel. Tim looked up.

Rhys stared back, his bite-stained lips parted, his eyes half-lidded and his pupils blown wide, circles of black that reduced the colour of his iris to slim rings of brown and amber. He was flushed red down to his chest.

“I’m gonna remember this,” Rhys vowed, his breathing ragged. “I’ll make you pay for it later.”

Tim laughed again, even as he thrilled at the mention of a _later_. He slipped his hands under Rhys’ underwear and began to tug. Rhys lifted himself up long enough for Tim to pull his clothing off and settled his now bare ass onto Cam’s leather blotter.

If he got fired for this, it would be worth it, Tim decided as he stared at the pearly bead of pre-cum swell at the head of Rhys’ dick. Rhys huffed, annoyed and impatient.

He wrapped his hand around the base and licked a long stripe up the length of Rhys’ erection. He kissed the head, flicked his tongue against the tip, tasting salt. He did it again and again, long and slow, until Rhys started to squirm, whining with frustration. He grabbed a handful of Tim’s short hair and yanked on it lightly.

“Tim, I mean it!” Rhys said, knocking his ankle against the desk. “If you don’t—don’t get moving soon—!” His grip tightened, making Tim’s toes curl with pleasure. “I’ll set this whole building on f-fire.”

Tim grinned. “You really are a brat. You can’t even ask me nicely? No wonder you’re on the naughty list.” He pumped his hand slowly as he spoke. “Where’s my ‘please’?”

“ _Please_.” Rhys thrust into his hand. “Please— god! I’ll kill you, please do something before I explode, Tim, I swear to god—!”

Tim’s grin widened. The sound of Rhys’ voice breaking sent a fresh wave of pleasure over him. He wrapped his lips around the head of Rhys’ cock and sank slowly down.

Rhys groaned, loud and filthy. He threw his legs around Tim’s shoulders and pressed his soft thighs against the side of Tim’s head, locked his ankles over Tim’s back, effectively trapping him. He gripped the back of Tim’s head tight with one hand and braced himself against the desk with the other, leaning back until he could thrust inside Tim’s mouth.

Tim supposed he deserved this.

He loosened his jaw and relaxed his throat. He pressed his tongue against the underside of Rhys’ dick, pulling back as much as he was able to swipe it across Rhys’ sensitive head. It was difficult to hear much over his pulse pounding in his ears and the warm, firm press of Rhys’ thighs against the sides of his head, but he could just hear Rhys moaning. God, he was loud. Fuck, Tim loved it.

Unable to take it anymore, and forgetting why it was a bad idea, Tim shoved his hand down the front of his polyester costume pants, past the waistband of his y-fronts, and gripped his hard length. He used his other hand to hold tight to Rhys’ hip as Rhys fucked his mouth.

Tim heard Rhys’ voice rise in volume. He heard his own name, like a chant.

“Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim, _Tim—_ I’m—Tim, I’m cl-close—!”

His grip loosened, an inch of air appeared between the soft skin of his inner thighs and Tim’s head. He yanked weakly at Tim’s hair and Tim knew what was coming. He gripped Rhys’ skin hard enough to bruise, pumped desperately into his own hand, and swallowed Rhys down to the hilt.

Rhys cried out Tim’s name as he came inside Tim’s mouth, which felt incredible in every way. Tim would’ve taken a moment to enjoy it more if he weren’t desperately chasing his own orgasm. He found it with Rhys’ cock still in his mouth, milking him through the aftershocks.

Rhys collapsed against the desk. Tim slumped forward on his knees. He rested his head against Rhys’ calf, his grip loosening on his softening dick. They were both silent as they tried to catch their breath.

Tim looked down at the mess on his hand and down the front of Santa’s red pants and sighed. “I’m gonna lose my deposit.”

Rhys laughed. “Worth it.” He patted the desk. “Hey. Get up here.”

“That’s my boss’ desk,” Tim said, even as he began to stand.

“So what? If he’s got a problem, he can take it up with me. Which he won’t.” Rhys sounded very smug.

“You don’t know my boss,” Tim said as he settled awkwardly down beside Rhys. The metal desk creaked a warning, but it held.

“I don’t care about your boss. My mom owns the building. I think we’ll be okay,” Rhys said. He laughed, breathless, when he saw Tim staring at him. “You didn’t know?”

“I… What?”

“Oh, you are so sweet.” Rhys drew the tip of his finger down the curve of Tim’s cheek. “I made such a good choice. I’m definitely going to keep you.”

Tim’s brain struggled through the post-orgasmic haze that weighed down his head. “Wait… But that guy. There was a guy before. Upstairs. His hand on your waist?”

Rhys wrinkled his nose. “Just some loser looking for a promotion. Don’t worry about it.”

Tim looked at Rhys. He could still hear Christmas music from above, mingled with the sound of drunk people laughing and cheering.

“Okay,” he decided. He would not worry about it.

Rhys’ smile widened.  “I’m sorry for saying you were on Santa’s nice list.” He cupped Tim’s face and kissed him. Tim felt loose and warm, ready to melt in Rhys’ arms.

“It’s okay,” Tim said.

“Next time,” Rhys said, as Tim peppered his jaw with kisses. “Next time I’ll make you pay for all that teasing. Make you regret it…”

“Next time,” Tim agreed, smiling like a fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know I have a tumblr? [It's true](http://nothingbutchaff.tumblr.com). Sometimes I post things there that I don't post to AO3, like this [short little Christmas story about Tim in a crop top](https://nothingbutchaff.tumblr.com/post/163522833582/inspired-by-scootsaboots-tim-in-sweaters-and).
> 
> Thanks for reading, happy holidays, and see y'all in 2018.


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